


Valentine Revisions

by Rayac



Category: Labyrinth (1986)
Genre: Euphemisms, F/M, Humor, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 06:47:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rayac/pseuds/Rayac
Summary: As part of a cathartic exercise, Sarah is dared to prepare some unusual Valentines for the men of her past. She never planned on the Goblin King actually receiving his or that he would meet her revised expectations. But does he ever. My response to LFFL's Valentine's Challenge. (M for language and a smattering of bad euphemisms.)
Relationships: Jareth/Sarah Williams
Comments: 8
Kudos: 55





	Valentine Revisions

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: This is my one-shot response to LFFL's February Valentine Writing Challenge. I'm calling it my answer to challenge #1.5...

As was the case with some of the best stories, it had started with a dare.

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true. If Sarah was to be precise, it had started with Steve's inability to think with anything except his dick. But, that was less of a catalyst than the dare itself.

And _far_ less than her writing _him_ a Valentine - and more - as part of said dare.

But, yes; it'd started with Steve. She'd matched with the cad after one of those tacky speed dating events. This one had been flush with paper garlands of tiny pink and red hearts, papier-mâché cupids, and bouquets of roses on every visible surface—as if the desperate attendees could forget that it was a week before Valentine's Day. And obviously, it hadn't been her idea to attend, but somehow, her recently single roommate Bethany had convinced her that it would be a fun Thursday night. It only lasted a couple of hours and there was no requirement that you mark an interest in anyone, she'd promised. But her hook, of course, was the open – and unlimited – bar that came with the ten-dollar entrance fee. So, Sarah had tagged along. Steve had been the last five minutes at her table. Looking back now, she blamed her three glasses of red wine for deciding that the fair-haired guitarist who loved Italian food and had an interest in all things animé was a good idea.

His cooking her a divine fettuccine alfredo on their first date days later had seemed to confirm it was. But an impromptu visit to his apartment the following evening with pizza and beer - and the busty and scantily clad door-opener - proved it was _not_.

Really. What was it with men and breasts? She hadn't expected him to be 'the one', but he'd told her he believed in exclusivity, and the lie still hurt.

Bethany, to her credit, had been the consummate roommate. Sarah had been certain she'd bought out the entirety of the liquor and freezer aisles at their corner market in an attempt to both apologize for her daft speed dating idea and ensure Sarah was too sloshed to care about the bastard. Bailey's and Ben & Jerry's, of course, always worked magic. As did bourbon.

Actually, it was the bourbon that was really to blame. Sarah didn't think the conversation and her consequences-be-damned attitude would have surfaced if Bethany had been sober and Sarah's whole body hadn't been tingling from the warm burn in her gut.

"What a dick," Bethany spat. "I hope he catches an STD. One of the painful ones, like…like _clamida_."

Sarah's giggle was smothered by a hiccough. "Chlamydia?"

"Yeah! That one." Bethany raised her glass in salute. "To chlamydia!"

"To chlamydia," Sarah agreed before draining what was left of her tumbler and returning to her pint of Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough. "And ice cream."

Bethany pulled the elastic out of her wavy brown ponytail before falling back into the couch cushions with a sigh. "Was she really that tarty?"

"Really," Sarah confirmed as she licked her spoon clean. "Straight off the cover of one of your bad romance novels. Who opens the door with their tits hanging out?"

"Someone expecting a different sort of pizza delivery," Bethany said dryly.

Sarah laughed. "Exactly. It's girls like her who are ruining men for the rest of us. Someone needs to get it through their thick skulls that we're more than a piece of ass."

"But, Sar," Bethany mock gasped, placing one hand over her heart, "how will they survive without gifting us their turgid love wands?"

"Their _what_?"

Bethany jumped up from the couch, snickering until she knocked her shin against the coffee table with a _fuck_. But the expletive only seemed to spur her faster towards her room. Seconds later, she limped back cradling a tall stack of paperbacks. She handed one to Sarah with a snort. "I'm telling you, Sar. You're missing out."

One look at the cover of The Darkest Rogue and His Damsel was enough to inspire a feminist movement. There was absolutely _no_ good reason for any woman – and especially one wearing nothing but half a coral dress and a look of ecstasy – to be sprawled across a forest floor in the arms of a masked man. None. Not even if she was deathly intoxicated. Sarah must have been part-way there herself though, because she opened the book to a random page and started to read the first paragraph she saw aloud.

"Eleanora could take it no longer, freeing her heaving bosoms from their silken prison and pulling Sebastien's mouth down to devour one rosy peak. Sebastien savored her as she mewled in ecstasy, drawing each nipple taught with a flick of his tongue. His pleasure stick was writhing against her as his mouth moved lower and with a throaty growl, he shredded her panties and began lapping her sweet…Ugh." Sarah grimaced before holding it back out to Bethany. " _This_ is exactly the problem. Silken prison? _Pleasure stick_?"

Bethany snickered again. "Not exactly Shakespeare, is it? But I think it's hot. And I'm telling you, when you're plastered, it'll turn you on too."

"There's not enough liquor on the planet, Beth."

Bethany took it back with a shrug. "Suit yourself. But _this_ ," she emphasized, pointing to the lower part of the cover where the name 'Richard E. Biggins' was printed in bold lettering, "is the world we're living in. Men live by their dicks. Better to get some joy out of it." Her dark blue eyes suddenly widened before she tilted a grin towards Sarah. "Actually, I think you can."

"How?" Sarah replied without hesitation. Though clearly, it was the liquor talking.

"You're a writer, aren't you?"

"Yeah." Of _children's_ books. The exact opposite of erotica. But Bethany knew that and didn't seem at all deterred.

"So," Bethany continued, stretching the vowel as if the rest was obvious, "make some revisions. Send copies to the dicks of your past."

Sarah snorted. "The dicks of my past? Is this some bizarre Christmas Carol fantasy?"

"Oh _no_. It's even better. You'll be the one giving them hell. It'll be cathartic." Her smile split wider. "You can _also_ fill them in on where they went wrong. It'll be the perfect Valentine."

That _was_ tempting, Sarah conceded. Though not terribly experienced, it'd been clear that several of her sexual partners had been more bluster than prowess. Was it _really_ too much to ask to get some reciprocity? A bit of romance? Still, sending messages – however important they might be – to past love interests was out of her wheelhouse. 'Live, learn, and move on', as her mother had always said.

"I don't know, Beth…"

"Oh, come on. It'll be fun! I'll do it, too." And then, Bethany – crafty as she was – pushed the button that invariably riled Sarah into action. "I dare you."

Sarah's eyes flashed, and she snapped the obscene book back from Bethany's outstretched hand. And that was it: Operation Feminist Valentine was set in motion. If there was one thing you knew about Sarah Williams, it was that she rarely backed down from a challenge.

Consequences be damned.

That attitude was precisely how Sarah found herself some two hours later: thoroughly buzzed, and vigorously scratching out cringe-inducing euphemisms before she inserted helpful notes in the margins. Respect. Decency. _Romance_. Not seeking to rescue or trap or torment any female love interest and to instead, _learn_ about her likes and dislikes. Conversation and a basic friendship before fucking. And most importantly: honesty. Whether it be personal, professional, or sexual, men needed to learn that above all else, truth was the way to a woman's heart.

To hers, at least.

Satisfied with her revisions to The Darkest Rogue and His Damsel (as well as to The Pirate Lord's Bounty and The Last Knight of Love), Sarah capped her pen and leaned back against the couch. Bethany was still busy with her own Valentine's present for her latest ex, which left Sarah to stare again at the pile of paperbacks spread across the coffee table.

Along with the bourbon, Sarah would later blame the fact that Bethany had _six_ "dicks of the past" on her list for what came next. If Bethany had been finished, Sarah was certain she wouldn't have spotted the dog-eared piece of erotica with a blue-eyed, blonde _king_ on its cover. And she definitely wouldn't have taken a second look to see that it'd been titled The Faerie King and His Conquest. And _that_ , her inebriated self insisted, was an offense too far. Because even though it'd been nearly ten years, in her mind, it seemed only ten minutes since the Goblin King had challenged her to run his Labyrinth. Even less since he and his smirk had sidled up to her in the tunnels, taunting her like she was some meek little girl who could be thwarted by parlor tricks and a pretty face. The gall of him to dress her up like a pampered princess just so he could lure her into his arms. Promising her the world in a song. And then at the end, to ask for her _love_ and _fear_ and _obedience_ in return for a lie. All to best her. All to _conquer_ her will so she'd fail to rescue Toby.

Bastard.

She pulled the pen cap back off with her teeth and got to work. So what if he never saw it? Bethany had been right: the erotica editing project – and the pointed notes to her exes - was immensely cathartic. Jareth wasn't an _ex_ per se, but as she'd looked back on his words and actions with older eyes, it'd become clear that he'd been trying to woo her into choosing _him_ instead of Toby. So, his crimes against her seemed just as objectionable.

By the time Sarah finished with her corrections, Bethany had stacked her six paperbacks in a pile and was scribbling away on a glittery piece of cardstock.

"What's that?"

"Extra cards." She glanced up, still scribbling. "From the ones I helped Caroline pick out for her class."

Without Sarah even asking, Bethany slid a few of the cards down the table. The theme for Bethany's little sister's class, it seemed, was 'what would happen if one glitter-bombed a cartoon zoo?' The answer? Bad puns. Still, if she was going to do this, she was going to go all out, so she addressed the card bearing a sparkling pink bear ("I love you bear-y much!") to Steve, and made a few linguistic adjustments. The cards with a lion and otter followed, and with the help of her pocketbook, all three were addressed and stamped in short order.

Which left one extra card. As she picked up the last of the pile, she wondered for a moment whether there was some higher power at work.

But, as his would remain unaddressed and was purely cathartic, she didn't give the thought more than a brief shrug as she penned the last to Jareth. After striking through the cover pun ("Happy V-owl-entines Day!"), she jotted down a few (choice) words about how the only Valentine evenings he'd spin for _her_ would be in his dreams.

And despite her inebriated state, she was right.

She just didn't count on it being in hers, too.

* * *

One of the most jarring things about dreams, Sarah decided, was that one always found themselves thrown into a scene with no context or sense of time. Her present dream sequence, for instance, placed her in the middle of a small forest clearing without any hint of how she'd arrived or why she was sitting alone in the grassy opening. The forest theme was somewhat expected, she supposed, what with the distasteful cover art that had spurred her long evening. As were her missing shoes, loose hair, and – thankfully – undamaged coral sundress. But that was where the similarities ended.

Her forest was enchanting. Instead of night and dark spruce, this clearing was encircled by trees bearing white and pale pink roses in full bloom. Along with their unnatural fullness and location, the caress of warmth on her face and arms told her she was somewhere far from New York in February. Somewhere otherworldly. And though she saw no twine, tiny lights appeared to have been strung through their boughs so she was wrapped in starlight and floral moons. But it was not night, and as she tilted her head back, dusk blushed just over treetops. Birds twittered just farther. Simple - but beautiful – serenity. She eased back into the petal-dusted grass and immediately felt herself drifting away with a sigh.

"If you desire to rest, you are welcome to one of my pillows."

Sarah felt the air still as the low drawl pricked every nerve ending to attention. The birds silenced; the breeze stolen with her breath as recognition shot through her like lightning. Him. The Goblin King. _Jareth._ And even in the dream, she _knew_ he was here and not just her fantasy. His offer held a familiarity that was too genuine to be imagined. But he was also too calm. Too at ease at their unexpected reunion. And when she pulled her eyes from the blushing sky to find him behind her - likewise sprawled across petaled grass, though with the comfort of pillows and a silver-white blanket - she felt her blood flood to her face.

There was no mistaking him. Wild, feathered hair in shades of gold. Odd deep blue eyes and arched brows that mirrored the uptilt to one corner of lips. The memory of his smirk in the tunnels flickered again. But his smirk this time, she knew, was because he was near enough to see her face flush as she stared at the long expanse of pale skin cut into his white peasant shirt. An expanse that his horned amulet barely hid and when combined with black breeches that revealed every twitch of lithe muscle, left Sarah gaping. Had he always been this seductive? This dangerously beautiful? She'd thought she'd remembered him just as he was when she was a teen, but this reality was overwhelming. Or perhaps in dreams, he twisted perceptions and appearances?

She clung to the second theory. There was no way she was actually attracted to him after all he'd done and said. No way that overpowered thoughts of anger. "Why are you here?" she asked after spinning to face him.

"Curiosity, mostly."

"Curiosity? To see the girl who beat you ten years ago?"

"That, and to learn what led to my Valentine invitation."

Sarah's heart skipped a beat. _Valentine_ invitation? "What invitation?"

One brow and a black-gloved hand raised simultaneously, and Sarah felt the air still again as she stared at the glittering pink cardstock. "Given you'd resisted using it before now, I thought you knew names, as with words, have power."

 _Oh, God._ Please _tell me that's the only thing that power extended to. Did I write his name in the book too?_ She'd been so far gone at that point that she couldn't remember. Sarah craned her neck, but it was impossible to tell what else Jareth had in his possession with the mass of red pillows surrounding him. But then he shifted, lowering himself onto one elbow, and Sarah tensed at the sight of a small, wicker basket. He'd brought something besides a card, blanket, and pillows to this dream. Her pulse ticked up slightly.

"Have you been well?" he asked suddenly.

She focused back on him. "What?"

" _Well_ ," he repeated, grinning. "Has the mortal realm brought you everything you desired?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "Why do you care?"

"As I said: curiosity. It's rare that a past Wisher calls upon me again."

"How rare?"

He chuckled. "Wondering how many other Valentine evenings I've spun?"

" _No_ —"

"—None."

Sarah's mouth dropped slightly as he cut in, but she snapped it closed before she thought he'd noticed. He was still staring at her with a slim grin and when he made no move to speak further, Sarah found herself speaking in his stead—if only to avoid an awkward silence. And to distract herself from dangerous thoughts. "I've been...fine," she offered slowly.

Another brow inched up. "Just...fine? Surely, with your passion for theatre, you can do better than that."

"It's been a while since I've acted," she said defensively. "I'm a writer now."

"Ah, yes. A profession with a limited need for words," he drawled.

Sarah immediately made to protest, but another look at his smile - now dotted with sharp teeth - stopped her before she could argue. Sarcasm. He was _teasing_ her? Flirting? Perhaps this was all in her head, after all. She had been thoroughly sloshed when she'd found her way to bed and it wouldn't be the first liquor and sugar-induced fantasy she'd fallen into. Far from her first _romantic_ fantasy, too. It seemed a much more logical explanation than him actually being here, teasing and curious about her life.

_Oh, screw it._

"That's the nice thing about being a children's author: few words are needed. And it's exactly how my stepmother describes my books," she added drolly. She didn't at all care what Karen thought, of course. She was published and she was damn proud of herself.

He laughed again - a disturbingly pleasing sound, Sarah decided - as he moved his elbow to prop up his head. "If you wrote them, I am confident they are masterpieces."

Oh, she'd _definitely_ dreamed him up. He'd moved on to flattery and compliments now. But, her fantasy-Jareth seemed genuine, so she replied with a smile. "Thanks. I'm proud of them."

"Perhaps you'll send me them next?" He held up the card again, and she saw her angry scrawl across its middle. "I would enjoy different reading material."

She laughed. "No libraries where you're from?"

"Oh no, I have an extensive library. At last count, it contained upwards of ten thousand works. But it contains no writings such as yours."

A dream library. Literally _and_ figuratively, she thought. And when she just held her smile and nodded once, his responding grin was glorious.

"Apart from your misguided stepmother, how is your family? Is your brother well?"

He was - as was her father - and she told him as much. Along with a variety of other tidbits about her life, after he inquired. About how she'd grown extremely close to Toby after she'd returned from the Labyrinth and about how she never took their relationship for granted. About how she'd decided to attend Hamilton college for both its writing program and its proximity to home. About how she'd met her best friend Bethany after an evening involving a drunken campus-wide game of hide-and-seek, and a classroom they'd both chosen to hide in that (unknowingly) could be unlocked only from the outside. He'd laughed again at that, genuinely amused, and when he gestured for her to join him on his silver-white blanket, she didn't hesitate to do so; lying across from him amongst pillows while mirroring his elbowed headrest.

He told her of Underground things, then. Things that were just as magical and bizarre as she believed they would be—as it was all in her head, of course. Wishers were sporadic at best, but he remained busy with other duties of his monarchy. There were neverending skirmishes to quell and roads and bridges to repair. He'd given her a knowing glance then, but it was far from angry, so she just shrugged apologetically. One of his most ridiculous current problems involved mountain gnomes. They were pestering him again for access to his tunnels to - the best he could understand - build a shrine to his fabled False Alarms. The shrine, of course, came with the request for bi-monthly pilgrimages in and out of his lands which spurred his continued refusal. He would have to be dethroned before someone turned his Labyrinth into a gnome tourist destination, he'd insisted. Sarah dutifully agreed, which earned her a pulse-skipping grin and encouraged him to continue.

He spoke of the fairies, next. He noted that they were a traditionally independent and introverted species but had recently banded together to declare a Revolution against his gardeners. One of their most bitey leaders had been exterminated, apparently. But, the fairies' efforts thus far had been relatively successful given the numerous scabbed, scratched, and burned employees who'd sought his assistance. They were presently three days into a ninety-day truce, which he expected to collapse tomorrow when his gardeners learned about the new extermination quotas he'd implemented. Fairies were both bitey and a pestilence on his farmlands, he'd explained, and his subjects' need for food was far greater than the chance of a few treatable injuries. Sarah didn't have to feign agreement.

He'd last confirmed the goblins were well, though they'd erected a "disturbingly inaccurate" statute of him as part of their rebuilding the Goblin City. When Sarah asked about what was so inaccurate, Jareth just smirked and glanced downward. And Sarah knew then that the setting sun played no part in warming her face.

By the end of his tales, the sky had burst open to welcome twin moons and starlight which along with the rose-tree lights, kept them immersed in a soft glow. Sarah had shifted again, distracted now by the wide swath of gold-flecked velvet as she nestled herself against pillows at Jareth's side. He'd absently taken to twirling one lock of long dark hair through fingertips as she stared up, though when she released a soft note of appreciation, he realized his motion and pulled his hand back.

She tilted her head back with a smile, snuggling closer to show she didn't mind his attentions. "Don't stop." It was her dream, after all, and the feel of him at her side, fingers trailing through hair, soothed a tension Sarah hadn't realized she'd carried to bed. The product of her terse revisions and frustration with the males of her past, she assumed. It had to have been that for her to create the mirage of an interested but respectful beau in a romantic evening. But, to her surprise, he just sighed.

"You are making this very difficult, Sarah."

 _That_ didn't align with her fantasy. She glanced back and up again, hoping for mirth, but he was watching her with an unreadable expression—something lost between mournful and tormented. "Difficult?"

"Yes," he affirmed. "It is challenging to live up to your changing expectations. Exhausting."

_I'm exhausted from living up to your expectations._

Sarah sat up quickly at the memory, spinning towards him. Something about what he'd said wasn't _right_. "What changing expectations?"

He considered her for a long moment and Sarah was certain he'd decided against explaining, intent instead to lose himself in her eyes. Even though she wanted an answer, she refused to blink. She leaned in just slightly. Only then did his expression soften as he closed his eyes with another sigh. "I never lied to you, Sarah. Nor did I wish to trap, torment, or conquer you." And then his glance pinned her in place. "And you won your brother the very moment you leapt off that ledge."

Sarah's breath hitched. _What_? But she heard the honesty and familiarly there, and while surprising, it was the rawness in his expression that stole her breath. Broken. _Anguished_. By her? By what he'd done? Even in dreams, it was unexpected and impossible. He'd appeared hurt when she'd said her words, but she'd _never_ imagined him like this. And even then, she didn't see how that answered what she'd asked, so she tried again, breathy. "... _What_?"

"A basic friendship first, was it? If that's what you wish, it would wise for me to leave before I find I cannot."

She stilled, and in that instant, the fantasy flickered. A fantasy of her mind would know her revisions, but he would not need to _leave_. He definitely would not say so with pained regret. And as she watched him reach back into his wicker basket to pull out something bound and dog-eared, the belief faded completely. Just as did the color in her face.

_Oh, God. The book. She'd actually sent him bad erotica._

He'd obviously noticed her pallor, because he quirked a slim smile then, and though she was still embarrassed, Sarah's fear receded. He was not angry. Amused? Pleased?

Both, it seemed, as he opened the book. "Don't worry. We are in agreement on Mr. Biggins' distasteful use of euphemisms. 'Pulsating scepter and its quest for treasure caverns?'" he read drolly before he glanced back up. "Even my goblins are more eloquent than that."

"You're really here."

His flinch was subtle, but she knew her pitch had drawn it. "Yes," he sighed. "But there are now two reasons why I should go." Without waiting for her response, he stood. And before Sarah could process the wistful look on his face or tell him that _wasn't_ what she wanted, the greens, pinks, reds, and whites melted into black.

* * *

Sarah shot up in her bed, gasping. She rarely remembered her dreams - even less frequently did she remember conversations within them - but as her heart hammered away, she remembered _everything_ : his dangerous beauty, the calming feel of him at her side, his genuine interest and _joy_ in her answered questions...

The pained honesty in his admissions.

_Oh, God._

Sarah ripped her comforter off the bed as she scrambled up and out her door into the living room. It was quiet and cold, and likely Bethany was still fast asleep; light barely filtered through the fogged windows. So, as expected, the coffee table was still piled with envelopes and paperbacks.

Just not _his._

It was real. He was _there;_ spinning a Valentine evening for her in a dream. One that she'd asked him to spin, and one where he'd carefully - but _painfully_ \- followed her instructions. Her expectations? Sarah's breath hitched again. He'd been very specific about those, too. About how they'd _changed_ and how he'd never lied or wanted to do the things he'd done. And though she couldn't explain how or why, she _knew_ without a doubt that it was true. She had to know why. She needed to know how she'd missed it before. Because now, her perception of him - just as the books - had been thoroughly revised.

His ask suddenly flooded over her questions. If it'd worked once, it could work again—she would just adjust some words. Lighten her language and change the time and meeting place. She kept extra copies of her books in her bedroom so she sped back and furiously scribbled out his name and her request.

Her room dropped several degrees as she ended her _h_ with a signed flourish and for the third time since she'd first called him, Sarah felt the air still.

"You are adamant on shattering me, it seems."

She turned swiftly to find that his pained expression had found its way into her room, attached to the same dangerous eyes and outfit that he'd worn to the dream. She shook her head as she swallowed. "No. Not anymore." As his anguish faded just slightly, she moved closer. "You were telling the truth. About everything."

Not a question from her tone, but he nodded all the same. "Fae cannot lie."

"Why?"

"As a balance for when my kind were first gifted magic—"

"—No," she stopped him. "Why tell me those things? Why make that offer? Why spin me a Valentine evening?"

He sighed. "Why does it matter? You've made your answer clear."

"Perhaps I didn't have all the information I needed. Perhaps I didn't understand." She was confident now she hadn't; she'd been so _young_ and impetuous. "I need to understand, Jareth." She'd suspected his name would draw his answer. He'd told her of its power. So when he exhaled again, looking away, she knew she'd been right.

"I knew you before you made that wish," he began quietly. "My kind thrives on magic, myths, and dreams, and we are drawn to the mortals who believe in them like moths to a flame. Children often believe the brightest, but your belief was more brilliant than an infinite starscape." He paused, then turned back to her with his familiar regret. "I never expected you to call but when you did, I could do nothing but live up to your expectations. You desired adventure and danger. To be the heroine and princess who conquered the villain king. And I obliged. But it was never how I would have chosen for you to see me. It still is not."

Sarah's heart clenched. "How do you want me to see you?"

He smiled wistfully as she stepped closer. "As a friend, at first. Just as you prefer. But perhaps, someday, something more."

"I would like that," she said, after swallowing. "To be friends. At first," she added. And when she finished, his grin was even more glorious than those of her dreams and it made her pulse fracture. It was that, she'd later decide, that had made her forget everything she'd asked of him.

It was what made her lean up on her toes to kiss him.

He stilled as she pressed her lips softly against his and for a moment, she wondered if she'd been too bold. But then she felt one hand catch her waist and his other on her cheek as he began to return her caress. He was rich with magic and spiced honey and when she picked up her pressure, wanting to devour every hint of him, she heard something guttural stir in the back of his throat.

"You do enjoy making this difficult, don't you?" he murmured, pulling back to rest his forehead against her own. "Keeping to friendship, first."

She laughed, leaning back in. "I've made revisions before. Who says I can't do it again?"

To her delight, that was all the instruction that Jareth needed before he set her aflame, lips back on hers with unexpected ferocity. And as she burned, she realized with a moan that she was _far_ less opposed to the idea of pleasure sticks and a king's pulsating scepter.

She just wouldn't be reading about them this time.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I have no idea if there are erotic books with my titles, but if there are, it is purely accidental. And as you probably noticed, I also had a little fun with naming the author of The Darkest Rogue and His Damsel. Haha. I make no apologies - this was my lighthearted Valentine's tale.


End file.
